


Reden

by Davechicken



Series: Angel & Snake [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Sex with Snake Form Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23758402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Crowley asks Aziraphale to come to a garden. Not the original one, but close enough.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Angel & Snake [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676680
Comments: 22
Kudos: 172





	Reden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lisalicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisalicious/gifts).



Thing was, it hadn’t been an apple. The tree in Eden - one of many trees - but ‘the’ tree had been unique. Maybe it still was. Aziraphale hadn’t stayed for long, not after the Incident. But whether it was still there or not, the point remained that the original fruit hadn’t been, precisely, an apple. 

Which meant that a little imagination was required, as he stood in the small, hazy-aired conservatory with almost-perfect plants. 

(Quite why Crowley had always needed perfect plants after That Day was the sort of question whole generations of psychologists would wet themselves to produce papers about. But Aziraphale would never let them, and Crowley had driven more than one head doctor to pure distraction.) 

Apple trees could flourish well enough here, out in the open, but the very first Holy Land (or, hadn’t all land been Holy, back then?) had been warmer. Aziraphale could handle heat, or cold. Alright, so it was nicer now that Humanity had invented central heating and air-conditioning, it was true, but England was temperate enough.

The greenhouse was a luxury, and one he’d not understood before. But now - bare-footed, wearing something much like he had in the Beginning - he could appreciate it. Appreciate the sense memory it evoked, as the hot stones bled daylight back into his soles. As the sun was caught and coerced into bouncing around between sheets of glass and green, green leaves to leave the air humid and heavy.

A little bit of a paradise not so much lost as misplaced, temporarily. Or, maybe, relocated. 

He rarely let his wings out, but… eyes closed, he turned his face to the false, glass sky. The mottled light played over his lids, and he felt his sense of self stretch out beyond the normal edges, to ripple out his wings and splay them, basking, in the warm light.

A deep sense of old bliss and innocence, a flash of times before. Before-before. Before even the first war. When it had been all joy, and no worry. Simple. Sweet. Innocent. Calm.

The faint susurration behind and to the left broke the reverie, but not the serene expression on his face. Except for the quirk of his lips. So this was why he’d been asked here.

The serpent’s long body wound through the mulch, brushing past leaves and shoots, winding in that indirect way of motion he’d always had. Swaying like those hips, circling like his speech. Difficult to pin down, just by listening, and sounding like he came from five directions at once. 

_Azzzziraphhhhaaale,_ came the sibilant greeting, hissing despite the sound going straight into his mind. The whisperings of power, not of palate. 

He chose not to react, to open his eyes and look up, into the blue above. Closer, closer, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Automatic, instinctual… but it wasn’t fear. 

Eventually the winding path brough warm, dry scales grazing against his ankle. He was always struck by the heat the serpent radiated, even in such a warm place as this. Crowley soaked up the sun, but he poured it back out just as much. His toes tickled under the touch, as Crowley’s snub-nosed head pushed up the trunk of the young tree. Thick muscles rippled and contracted as the snake coiled up and into the branches.

_Angel_....

Two lazy loops from a low-hanging branch, the rest of his body in a curl around the trunk. Unblinking, familiar eyes inside his triangular face, swaying hypnotically much like his Human form did. 

“Cr--” this was fiction. Was he supposed to know? Was he still ‘Crawly’? “Demon,” he settled for. 

_Sssent here to guard the tree…_

The serpent’s tensing coils were a mockery of that charge, smooth belly-scales gliding over bark, making strange coils of gut churn in Aziraphale’s own belly. 

“Yes. Against those such as you.” Haughty was easy to feign, in that it wasn’t fake at all. “You should get down from there.”

Crowley didn’t say it, but he could hear inside his own mind how tempted he was to say ‘Make me’. But that wasn’t the game, not today. 

Scarlet and obsidian knotted and stroked, a tongue out to taste the air in what could almost be a smile. _What are you protecting it from?_

“Things that are… evil. Wicked. Sinful.”

_But - what?_

“Whatever the Almighty thinks is wrong.” Thinking back, he couldn’t actually remember the specifics. He’d been told to guard, so he’d guarded. He’d assumed he’d know what to do when it came to it. Hadn’t really been looking at the tree at the time, and then he’d gone and given his flaming sword away. So.

Maybe he should have asked for more clarity, but at the time, he’d been convinced his innate sense of… no. He’d been sure he was supposed to have an innate sense, and didn’t want to reveal that, perhaps, his was a little not...nate. Un-nate. Unnatural. 

Absent. 

Crowley’s head lifted, and he started to wrap and draw swirls between branches, enjoying the feel of it, the freedom. He’d been more comfortable in this form of late, when for years he’d denied it. Now he would let himself be seen, be touched. 

The snake’s not-voice drifted from somewhere out of sight, as the leaves rustled to let him past.

_Ssseems sssilly to me, have a tree you don’t need… I mean… if the fruit wasn’t for eating, why invent it_?

“Create,” he corrected. “Not invent, ‘create’. And - well - it’s about free will or something. Something… in--”

An apple dropped. Red as sunset, perfectly formed (as all of Crowley’s flora), and the angel’s instincts caught it. Of course.

_Mussst be nice. The Humans like it. You look like a Human…_

“It makes them feel better,” he said, unsure if it was worse to drop it, or try to miracle it back onto the plant. 

_Does it make you feel better, too_?

“I beg your pardon?”

_Your body… don’t you like it _?_ _

__

__

All of a sudden, a large, firm coil of snake-muscle landed on his shoulder. He turned to it, then snapped his head the other way, catching the glint of eyes as Crowley’s front quarters started to trail over his neck and drip like treacle down his back, his chest. A heavy, scaled scarf, and a tongue that kissed the inside of his wrist, the one holding the fruit. 

“I - I - what?” 

His heart was thudding, making his chest achingly tight. Between the contractions that made him struggle for air, and the hissing kiss against his neck, under his ear… he was dizzy, and forgetting what the game even was. 

Strong. Be strong. Don’t pay attention to the… to the rasp that tickled, or the way Crowley lowered himself down, his weight and girth pulling the angel’s wings in, folded neat. More whorls, around his waist, low like a gunslinger’s belt on his hips. Tighter, ever tighter, taking away his ability to run. 

Taking away his desire to. 

“Demon…” 

_Ssssshhhh. You know you want to. I can sssmell it on you. You like thisss…_

A tiny fang pricked at his earlobe, offered a kiss of soft pain that blossomed into vibrant heat in his neck. Aziraphale whimpered, and let the snake tilt his head back, pressing into his throat. 

He should say no. He should. His hand was pinned down, and the apple was plucked from his palm. He’d forgotten everything but the sharp scent of freshly churned mulch, bright, living leaves. His hazy eyes saw amber ones float above his head, and the snake’s jaws closing into an apple it wasn’t made to eat. 

The juice dribbled over fangs like nectar and venom, and dribbled over his cheeks. Wet over his lips. Slicked over his mouth. 

Aziraphale opened up obediently, letting the droplets of juice hit his tongue. Bright, condensed sunlight. Soft, sugary rushes that quickened his blood, and made him strain against the bonds that held him. /p>

The apple lowered, the snake’s head pressing the punctured fruit into his mouth. Too big, and he was stuffed like a pig, ready for slaughter. A moment of worry when the memory hit, wondering if Crowley could swallow him whole. Not that he’d want to, but he was now so subdued that it would take him time to remember how to resist. 

Tighter, tighter, rippling up his form like a hand over his cock, or a mouth sucking his tongue. His eyes closed in bliss, and he felt the tip of Crowley’s tail tickle his ankle and push. 

Push up. Slide up. Easing below the robes, touching bare skin. Another churn, this time massaging his very interested cock, and dragging fabric over his cockhead. It was not enough, but then there were softer things rubbing between his cheeks. 

Oh. Aziraphale moaned, and suddenly there was more apple in his mouth, and it was pressed deeper, as a slender, oil-slick appendage pressed into him. It was tight, but the end was narrow, and Crowley was taking care of the softer parts. Wet, so wet, and was that his body, or was it a miracle? 

The angel didn’t know, just knew he couldn’t move. Couldn’t thrust, couldn’t rub, grab, tug, fight. Couldn’t do anything but drag air through his nostrils as he submitted to the delicious touches. His wings rustled, feeling how tightly he was held, and he groaned (nearly choking on more juice) as the slim cock pushed deeper, deeper… then another. Another, pressing at his rim, making his body yield. 

Stuck like this, all he could do was feel the spread. The widening, the stretching. The way his pulse thrummed around the intrusion. The way he was hotter, hotter than Aziraphale’s skin, molten chocolate around an iron core that bore further, and further - and… 

The minute the flared, harsher parts forced inside with a rush, Aziraphale thrashed. It was faster than he was used to, and it stung, but not, but yes, but not… his body spasmed, but that tugged things deeper. Fuck, oh fuck, oh - the snake’s belly was flush between his thighs, the scales pressed into his balls. Up over his own stomach, and over his cock. He wanted to rut, thrust, squeeze… something! Wanted to participate, wanted to seek out more, wanted - wanted - 

His mind just went, suddenly, as the pleasure of the pressure inside his rim became too bright to ignore. Deep, deep waves of sensation, of gushing fluids that threatened to swell him beyond his threshold, beyond the grip that lifted him off the ground. Burst out between ropes of living, breathing demon, and the not-not-not-quite enough touches to his prostate. Scratches, touches, twitches, and the threat of knots around his throat. 

A flicker of tongue over his cheeks made him lift his eyes, and see the demon who had bundled him, bound him, and knotted his insides and outsides with utter, possessive bliss. He felt the gush of his release push from his body, glistening between scales, worked back by ripples to coat his skin. The pleasure didn’t wane, though, because Crowley didn’t stop moving. The pulsing at his prostate, the soft-hard spikes inside his hole, the gush of fluids that leaked out despite the tight tie… 

Aziraphale drifted, utterly boneless and buffeted by the distant, all-consuming pleasure. Warm, warm, safe. The apple fell to the ground, bitten and bruised, and forked kisses cleaned the mess from round his lips. 

He wasn’t sure how long he was caught in the mating embrace, but when he finally felt the ability to move again, he realised he was lying in a bundle of snake, and his arms were cuddling into Crowley’s middle. His head was pillowed, and a dozy serpent-head hissed and purred over his heart. Aziraphale stroked from nose down to neck, and enjoyed the dreamy look he got in return. 

_If you sssay ‘temptation accomplissshed', I will bite you_. 

I was thinking of just, ‘I love you’, but…” 

The demon’s mouth wasn’t made to kiss like this, but the tongue that chased over his smile was close enough. Aziraphale scritched behind an ear, and stretched luxuriously. 

_You monssster_. 

“Are there any apples left?” 

Snakes couldn’t laugh. Crowley managed anyway. 


End file.
